DNF at page 107/580Believe me when I say that I tried going on, but it was just... impossible for me.Descriptions that lasted at least one entire page when you are lucky (and you know what? I'm almost NEVER lucky), stories into the storyDNF at page 107/580

Believe me when I say that I tried going on, but it was just... impossible for me.Descriptions that lasted at least one entire page when you are lucky (and you know what? I'm almost NEVER lucky), stories into the story everywhere... nope, for my action-and-fantasy-lover heart was just too much.

It's a shame since I was looking forward a book about ships... but I fear I'll have to go for another genre. ...Continua Nascondi

It's been sixteen years since I first read Moby Dick and in the meantime I've gone back and forth reading it at least half a dozen times, in various translations and in the original.It always fascinated me, I was never quite sure why.Yes, it is aIt's been sixteen years since I first read Moby Dick and in the meantime I've gone back and forth reading it at least half a dozen times, in various translations and in the original.

It always fascinated me, I was never quite sure why.

Yes, it is a pretty damn good story.Yes, it is written brilliantly.Yes, it is a masterpiece.

But then again..., it wasn't just that, there was something more and different; after all there's plenty of pretty damn good stories written brilliantly adding up to masterpieces that I've read and never spent a second thought about.

Very well then, it must be the allegory, the OCD level of commitment Ahab shows in chasing the whale must be a clear reference to the struggle of mankind to find a meaning, to find a purpose, but then again you might argue, and with some reason, that the whole four-hundred-and-odd pages can be recapitulated in the few final verses of Dante's Comedy, XXVI Canto, ending with: "Until the sea above us closed again"

[infin che ’l mar fu sovra noi richiuso]

But that's just unfair, if you really think about it, although the connection with Dante is real and is all but a coincidence.

I don't think that's just the literary relevance either, I rank this in terms of mere quality on the page at least in the top 100 works I've read, but not in the top 10.

And then one day, something reminded me of Matthew 6.19: "Lay not up for yourselves treasures upon earth, where moth and rust doth corrupt, and where thieves break through and steal But lay up for yourselves treasures in heaven, where neither moth nor rust doth corrupt, and where thieves do not break through nor steal For where your treasure is, there will your heart be also."

‘Thou knowest best,’ was the sepulchral reply, ‘the seven hundred and seventy-seventh wouldn’t be too much, would it?— ’where moth and rust do corrupt, but LAY—’

LAY, indeed, thought I, and such a lay! the seven hundred and seventy-seventh! Well, old Bildad, you are determined that I, for one, shall not LAY up many LAYS here below, where moth and rust do corrupt. It was an exceedingly LONG LAY that, indeed"

And then it came to me, it's at the same time the archetypal, the ultimate and the definitive American novel, it's the translation into literature of what makes the American Society tick, the stark contrast between high principles and bare pragmatism.

The Pequod is made of a crew of people from all over the world with any color and religion you can think of, it is run as a tight ship by tough but fair and loyal officers and by a capable but arguably insane captain, and finally is owned by bigots who think you should lay your wealth not on earth, where moth and rust do corrupt...., but nevertheless won't shy from screwing their neighbor over to make the extra buck.

You can easily take this out of the metaphor yourself.

Social commentary it is and quite a good one, so good that most, if not all, of it is pretty still relevant to these days.

EXTRACTS (Supplied by a Sub-Sub-Librarian)It will be seen that this mere painstaking burrower and grub-worm of a poor devil of a Sub-Sub appears to have gone through the long Vaticans and street-stalls of the earth, picking up whatever randomEXTRACTS (Supplied by a Sub-Sub-Librarian)

It will be seen that this mere painstaking burrower and grub-worm of a poor devil of a Sub-Sub appears to have gone through the long Vaticans and street-stalls of the earth, picking up whatever random allusions to whales he could anyways find in any book whatsoever, sacred or profane. therefore you must not, in every case at least, take the higgledy-piggledy whale statements, however authentic, in these extracts, for veritable gospel cetology. Far from it. As touching the ancient authors generally, as well as the poets here appearing, these extracts are solely valuable or entertaining, as affording a glancing bird's eye view of what has been promiscuously said, thought, fancied, and sung of Leviathan, by many nations and generations, including our own.So fare thee well, poor devil of a Sub-Sub, whose commentator I am. Thou belongest to that hopeless, sallow tribe which no wine of this world will ever warm; and for whom even Pale Sherry would be too rosy-strong; but with whom one sometimes loves to sit, and feel poor-devilish, too; and grow convivial upon tears; and say to them bluntly, with full eyes and empty glasses, and in not altogether unpleasant sadness—Give it up, Sub-Subs! For by how much more pains ye take to please the world, by so much the more shall ye for ever go thankless! Would that I could clear out Hampton Court and the Tuileries for ye! But gulp down your tears and hie aloft to the royal-mast with your hearts; for your friends who have gone before are clearing out the seven-storied heavens, and making refugees of long pampered Gabriel, Michael, and Raphael, against your coming. Here ye strike but splintered hearts together—there, ye shall strike unsplinterable glasses!...Continua Nascondi

But wherefore it was that after having repeatedly smelt the sea as a merchant sailor, I should now take it into my head to go on a whaling voyage; this the invisible police officer of the Fates, who has the constant surveillance of me, and secretlyBut wherefore it was that after having repeatedly smelt the sea as a merchant sailor, I should now take it into my head to go on a whaling voyage; this the invisible police officer of the Fates, who has the constant surveillance of me, and secretly dogs me, and influences me in some unaccountable way—he can better answer than any one else. And, doubtless, my going on this whaling voyage, formed part of the grand programme of Providence that was drawn up a long time ago. It came in as a sort of brief interlude and solo between more extensive performances. I take it that this part of the bill must have run something like this:

“Grand Contested Election for the Presidency of the United States. “WHALING VOYAGE BY ONE ISHMAEL. “BLOODY BATTLE IN AFFGHANISTAN.”...Continua Nascondi

Now, when I say that I am in the habit of going to sea whenever I begin to grow hazy about the eyes, and begin to be over conscious of my lungs, I do not mean to have it inferred that I ever go to sea as a passenger. For to go as a passenger youNow, when I say that I am in the habit of going to sea whenever I begin to grow hazy about the eyes, and begin to be over conscious of my lungs, I do not mean to have it inferred that I ever go to sea as a passenger. For to go as a passenger you must needs have a purse, and a purse is but a rag unless you have something in it. Besides, passengers get sea-sick—grow quarrelsome—don't sleep of nights—do not enjoy themselves much, asa general thing—no, I never go as a passenger; nor, though I am something of a salt, do I ever go to sea as a Commodore, or a Captain, or a Cook. I abandon the glory and distinction of such offices to those who like them. For my part, I abominate all honorable respectable toils, trials, and tribulations of every kind whatsoever. It is quite as much as I can do to take care of myself, without taking care of ships, barques, brigs, schooners, and what not. And as for going as cook,—though I confess there is considerable glory in that, a cook being a sort of officer on ship-board—yet, somehow, I never fancied broiling fowls—though once broiled, judiciously buttered, and judgmatically salted and peppered, there is no one who will speak more respectfully, not to say reverentially, of a broiled fowl than I will. It is out of the idolatrous dotings of the old Egyptians upon broiled ibis and roasted river horse, that you see the mummies of those creatures in their huge bake-houses the pyramids....Continua Nascondi

Call me Ishmael. Some years ago—never mind how long precisely—having little or no money in my purse, and nothing particular to interest me on shore, I thought I would sail about a little and see the watery part of the world. It is a way I haveCall me Ishmael. Some years ago—never mind how long precisely—having little or no money in my purse, and nothing particular to interest me on shore, I thought I would sail about a little and see the watery part of the world. It is a way I have of driving off the spleen and regulating the circulation. Whenever I find myself growing grim about the mouth; whenever it is a damp, drizzly November in my soul; whenever I find myself involuntarily pausing before coffin warehouses, and bringing up the rear of every funeral I meet; and especially whenever my hypos get such an upper hand of me, that it requires a strong moral principle to prevent me from deliberately stepping into the street, and methodically knocking people's hats off—then, I account it high time to get to sea as soon as I can. This is my substitute for pistol and ball. With a philosophical flourish Cato throws himself upon his sword; I quietly take to the ship. There is nothing surprising in this. If they but knew it, almost all men in their degree, some time or other, cherish very nearly the same feelings towards the ocean with me....Continua Nascondi